The Tilt of the Earth
by Never the End127
Summary: Skye gets sick as a result of her slowly developing powers. Just something that's been on my mind- little snippet, not much plot.
1. Vibrations

"Oh, dear." Simmons sighs, rubbing Skye's back sympathetically.

"oh dear," may be a bit of an under reaction, considering Skye's just hacked up half a lung and a gallon of blood. But then, Simmons never has been the panicky type.

"How are you holding up there, love?" Lance Hunter calls from across the hall, where he and Fitz are tinkering with some of Mack's old equipment.

"Just freaking dandy." Skye spits out in reply, just as another bout of nausea hits her and she gets sick again. There's nothing left in her stomach, and about an hour ago she started coughing up blood.

The sickness had started with subtle moodswings and had gradually transformed into what Skye felt was the black plague and Simmons labeled 'side effects.' Her throat is raw, her ears hurt and she can't keep down anything, not even ice chips.

"Feeling any better, Skye?" Coulson asks. He and May come clattering down the spiral staircase, dressed for combat.

"Oh, just swell." She glares darkly at the back of her hand. It's speckled with drying clots of blood and scratches where she's dug her fingernails in too hard.

"She's grumpy." Simmons says apologetically, like she's an adorable but obstinate child.

Skye bats weakly at the hand that smooths down her hair, only to find that it's Coulson's.

"How long will these symptoms last?" He asks, and Skye grumbles as he helps her off her knees. She shuffles out of the bathroom and immediately collapses onto the couch.

She feels, for lack of a better word, yucky. She kind of wishes Ward were alive so she could shoot him a couple more times.

Okay, that's not true. She's been feeling really twisted and guilty about that. May says it's natural.

At any rate, she's been feeling awful since her powers started to manifest- headaches, mood swings, the occasional freakout that rattled the plane's wings and shook dishes out of their cabinets. She didn't mean to do it. It was collateral damage.

"What are the symptoms again, Jemma?" Fitz breezes by with an armload of torn wires, dumping them on the counter and coming to sit on the coffee table near her head.

Skye loves Fiztsimmons, she really does, but they're a little too fascinated with her condition to propperly sympathize with just how miserable it's been making her.

Simmons flutters by, and there's the rattle of new pills and antabiotics being tumbled out over the counter, sorted into piles and organized to be later forced down Skye's throat against her will. She's exhausted- she wishes these two would just let her sleep.

"Skye experienced headache, dizziness and fatigue earlier this morning. She developed a fever precisely three hours prior to her first coughing fit, which was followed by nausea and the telechenetic displays later on." Simmons explained.

Fitz looked down at Skye seriously, a stray curl falling into his eyes. "Really?" He asks, intrigued. "Are you pregnant?"

Skye glares at him. "No, are you?" Deadpan.

"Not pregnant, then." Fitz concludes. "Do you need anything? Water... think you could handle a bit of toast?"

Skye thinks for a moment. "Tea." She decides. "Green. Hot, with the honey in it and no milk."

Both of them spring up from the sofa and scurry into the kitchen, talking together in hushed, excited tones. It's good to see they're getting along. And it will keep them busy, at least.

She rolls over onto her stomach, face pressed into the pillow, and moans.

The metal bolts in the coffee table rattle. The paperclip on the carpet spins.

Skye can feel the tilt of the Earth, and she's still incapacitated by a mere headache.

At least some things never change.


	2. Board Games

**Hi! This is short- just so excited for the finale!**

* * *

"I'll never understand why you have to guess the place and the murder weapon." Skye observed, flicking a card into the messy discard pile. "I mean- say the purple guy killed someone. Say we found his victim lying in the billard room with a lead pipe sticking out of his chest. It's pretty evident he wasn't strangled."

"Just play the game, Skye." Melinda groused.

Her cell is box shaped, too neat, too bright, too damn clean. The icy glass that resides in front of her is labeled with red block letters. A warning sign.

_Do Not Enter. 0-8-4. Danger._

Skye's dangerous, she knows she is. She's made everything worse, put everyone she loves in danger- and yet here they are with her, playing Coulson's vintage 1960's version of Clue with the pieces splayed out across the cracked floor outside her cell. Skye's cards are taped to the glass, facing her, and she had her own dice.

"Your turn, Skye." Jemma sings in an anxious voice, similar to the one she has when she lies.

Skye flicks her fingers and the dice clatters over the floor, bouncing against the glass. Five.

"Five spaces towards the ballroom, please." Skye shivers for the feeling of the earth trembling beneath her.

Her teeth vibrate in her skull. Her head spins and she can't make it stop. "Sorry." She adds in a hushed tone.

On the other side, Fitz and Simmons watch her with scared, sullen eyes.

* * *

**As you can see, there was no plot. Anyone have any ideas for a ficlet of Ward and not-May?**


End file.
